


The Creature

by orphan_account



Series: Orphan Black Writing Prompts [3]
Category: Orphan Black (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-24
Updated: 2013-10-24
Packaged: 2017-12-30 09:04:25
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 813
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1016725
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Cursed, cursed creator! Why did I live? Why, in that instant, did I not extinguish the spark of existence which you had so wantonly bestowed? I know not; despair had not yet taken possession of me..." (Shelley, 16.2).</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Creature

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Shatteredseekinggod](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=Shatteredseekinggod).



When I learned of Helena’s death I was in shock. It seemed unlikely that a trained assassin capable of causing instant fatality would let herself be killed by her prey, a punk nonetheless. I thought of my years spent tracking her down, the resources I desiccated in order to find her, and I thought of how close I had been to having her, my White Whale. She was the prize at the end of the maze, the light at the end of the tunnel, and I reached for her unyielding.

Then, to suddenly have to accept that the prize wouldn't be there for me when I arrived, the light already snuffed out; the enigma that surrounded her existence having been wiped clean and left unsolved. No, I refused to accept that fate. I had come too far and had worked for too long to simply turn away and move on. Therefore, I decided that it was my right, no, responsibility to reshape destiny. 

I completed my task on the last day of October. Sunset-colored leaves blanketed the ground and the wind set them flying like butterflies. But I wouldn't enjoy the day, for I spent my time locked in my lab. She looked angelic and esoteric as she lay in the shape of a cross on the table; her hair, celestially yellow, was illuminated by the artificial light and encompassed her face like a halo. The heavy set of her eyelids gave the impression of peaceful slumber but her bloodless lips, tinted blue, revealed her true state. Her injury was minimal, the bullet that killed her destroyed only her heart, it was time that did damage. Her blood congealed in her veins like mud in a river, isolating her brain from circulation. Her brain had shriveled like a worm on a hot day. I had no choice but to replace her deteriorating body parts with fresh clone material grown in the lab. With a refurbished brain and heart, she was ready for new life.

“Why am I here?” asked Rachel and feigned indifference as she peeked at the cadaver.

“I wanted to introduce you to Helena,” I said and gestured to the table, and continued with a smile, “Say hello.” Rachel rolled her eyes and pursed her lips, shaking her head in irritation; she’s grown tired of my dry humor and me by extension, but it used to thrill her. Still, she watched me as I placed the defibrillator on Helena’s chest and followed the routine I’d practiced a thousand times before. Electricity crackled in the air and raised the hair on the back of my neck.

Reanimation was abrupt. The defibrillator was on her chest again, sending wild spasms through the body, when her lips spread wide, curling back, and revealed a row of garish white teeth. Dried eyelids split open with a snap to reveal glazed, milky-white eyes. Her neck threw back to reveal blue veins pulsing beneath the pasty-white membrane of her flesh.

“It’s alive,” Rachel murmured at first in awe and then, in disgust. “It’s alive!” Helena clutched her chest blindly, surprised to find something beating there. I drew closer as Helena curled into a fetal position and I threw a white garment over her body.

“Helena,” I said but she made no reply; she shook tremendously. “Helena,” I prodded again, “How do you feel?”

When she refused to respond again, I touched her cheek and found her gaze locked on me. It dawned on me that this creature in front of me was not Helena alone, but an accidental creation; here was an amalgamation of my White Whale and the baby clone I stitched into her body. It created a horrible paradox of expressions. Her eyes sparked with the memory of a flaring gun and a hurtling bullet; her eyes softened with love for her creator. Her lips sneered with abhorred hatred for her tainted purity; her lips trembled with awe of the human touch she felt, my warm fingertips against her cheek. She tried to speak. She parted her lips, wet them, and parted them again but no words formed. The complexity of thought existed but her brain failed to connect her thoughts to her voice. After several attempts, her face fell slack and tears of frustration drowned her glazed eyes.

Rachel’s hand found my shoulder, pleading silently. With a pounding heart, I drew back from the monster. Anxiety shot across her eyes and she reached for me, fearing separation, but I turned away. I could not love her, this monster I created. She was not the angel I yearned to resurrect. So I abandoned her to the labyrinth of the old institute (where I hoped she would remain and at the same time knew that she would not). From within the walls, I heard the blood-curling lament of the creature and it spurned our fleeing feet.


End file.
